


The Crow and the Sword and the Hunt

by Annariel



Category: The Queen's Thief - Megan Whalen Turner
Genre: Bechdel Test Pass, F/M, Wild Hunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 02:53:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2797001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annariel/pseuds/Annariel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Queen of Attolia is captured by the pirate nation of Tirnamag.  The Thief of Eddis must infiltrate their court and in doing so he becomes enmeshed in the politics, legends and gods of the country.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sour_Idealist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sour_Idealist/gifts).



> Dear Sour_Idealist, you asked for shippy goodness. There is shippy goodness, I promise, just somehow the story got away from me a little and growed and growed until it was a monster.
> 
> Many, many thanks to Isis, who has been one of the best beta-readers I've had the pleasure to work with. I've not made all her suggested corrections, any remaining faults, therefore, continue to be mine. Her help wrestling the monster into shape has, however, much improved it.
> 
> Thanks also to LizHeffner, who at an early stage in planning the story sent me a detailed breakdown on The Morrigan and her worship. To be honest, not a lot of this remains and the goddess Magda, herein, is very much her own person.

Princess Cecily of Tirnamag, the mother land of Avalion, Dunethir and the Dark Valleys, stood on the deck of The _Golden Selkie_. It was Queen Anne's flagship, a galleon in the new style with the low bow of a galley, allowing guns to be mounted facing forwards, and the high stern of a sea-going sailing ship. It was the largest ship of the fleet, with no less than fourteen bronze cannon lining the gun deck. Queen Anne always captained the ship herself, and piloted it as well if her attention was not needed elsewhere. Today the Queen anticipated a great triumph, and she stood proprietorially at the wheel, gazing over the waves.

Princess Cecily stood beside her. Cecily could feel that her face, always pale, was pinched with the sharp cold of the wind. She held herself deliberately still as if defying the temperature itself. She should not have been there. Dee, the Secretary of State, had argued many times that the monarch and the heir should not sail the seas together. Sometimes Queen Anne heeded his advice, but her desire to show off, and residual jealousy from their childhood, frequently led her to disregard it. The opportunity to make the Princess witness another triumph was often too strong. It let her assert that she was a better queen than the princess could have been, or would be, in the unlikely event that she inherited the throne.

A storm was rising, but Queen Anne, standing at the great wheel, turned the ship with the confidence of a woman who knew the wind was on her side. The Circlet of the Sea shone bright on her forehead; the symbol of her sovereignty over the land of Tirnamag and the waters that surrounded it. Her arms strained as she controlled the path of the great ship. 

A small ship, an old-style caravel, became visible on the horizon, its own sails billowing before the wind.

"Ah ha!" cried the Queen, in triumph. "Did you doubt my purpose?"

She glanced at the Princess as she spoke. Cecily did not react, her face remaining pinched and bland. She had carefully offered no opinion on the day's adventure. There was very little point; whatever her opinion was, she had learned, it would be wrong. On this particular occasion, the Princess had been told nothing of the plans. Having no information to go on, she had refrained from even guessing, but schooled herself to await the outcome of events.

As the _Golden Selkie_ drew closer to its prey, the fleeing ship's design became clearer, and it was possible for the crew to make out the colours it flew. The excitement was muted. It was an Attolian vessel a long way from home. Tirnamag had little interaction with the nations of the Middle Sea. It made a pretty penny raiding the coasts and islands during the summer months, but did not bother itself with the Sea's tangled politics. Tirnamag certainly had no interest in the smaller countries that crowded the Middle Sea's shores. There was some quiet discussion among the soldiers and sailors about what the ship was doing so far from home, but little else.

"See, she runs!" the Queen said.

Indeed, the caravel was running with the wind, maximising its speed, but the _Golden Selkie_ was larger and swifter and she rapidly closed the gap between the two ships. Princess Cecily looked over at the Queen with curiosity. The Queen had received some intelligence the previous day, and since then they had been patrolling the Narrow Sea that ran between the coasts of Avalion and Eiron. It had been nearly twenty-four hours. Cecily knew herself to be tired and the crew to be more so, but she could feel the ways the Queen's excitement was beginning to infect the rest of the ship. Once they reached their opponent, the men would be eager for the fight.

The gap had reduced to less than a mile when the captain of the caravel clearly concluded his only option was to fight. It turned in a tight loop that did credit to the discipline of the sailors and began to beat into the wind. The _Golden Selkie_ altered course to intercept.

"Fire the forward guns," the Queen ordered as the ship bore down upon the caravel. 

The two guns fired with a massive sound. Cecily strained her eyes to see the effect on the other vessel. The guns had been loaded with stone shot that would pepper the open decks, but it was difficult to see through the gloom of the oncoming storm and the smoke generated by the gunpowder. The Attolian vessel fired in its turn since it was broadside on a port tack, but its guns lacked the power to reach the _Golden Selkie_.

They were able to fire once more before drawing up alongside the other vessel, and throwing across the grapples and planks for boarding. Cecily could make out a number of injured men on the decks of the other vessel but it seemed there was still a strong fighting force left. The sharp retort of hand guns rang out. A couple of the Attolian soldiers had rifles. But there were too few of them to make a difference. As they reloaded, the Avalish that made up the bulk of Queen Anne's forces were already swarming up onto the planks. This battle would be decided in the traditional fashion, with steel. 

Cecily had no sword of her own. It was partly a calculated insult and partly a political necessity. She had been dedicated to the warrior goddess as a child, but now the old gods were out of fashion once again. If she had gone into battle, armed with her mother's sword, it would have reawakened old memories and old allegiances. If the battle were won, the success might attach to her, rather than to the queen. Still, Cecily was also aware that her half-sister enjoyed the irony of carrying a princess dedicated to war into a battle she could not fight. All she could do was watch as Avalish and Attolian clashed across the narrow gap between the two ships.

It was an awkward melee. As always in such fights, the difficulty was getting across to the other vessel. A few soldiers on each side managed, but most of the fighting stalled across the gap.

"These Attolians fight well," remarked the Queen. 

Cecily nodded her agreement. They had both been schooled in fighting by their father, often side by side on the practice ground, and they recognised a well-drilled force when they saw one.

"We should talk to one about their training," Cecily said, and the Queen nodded.

The Attolian vessel could have held only a small honour guard, but the Avalish troops seemed unable to make full use of their advantage in numbers. Cecily's hands flexed instinctively at her side where her sword might have hung, as the battle swayed backwards and forwards.

Arthur Fotheringay, the Earl of Atherex, clambered up the ladders to the poop deck where the Queen and Princess stood watching the fight.

"Your Majesty, we should consider what will happen if they board," he began.

The Queen laughed in his face. Cecily moved closer to her, the two women briefly united in contempt.

"If they do successfully repel us, they will no doubt have little interest in anything except escape," Cecily replied for the Queen.

Fotheringay opened his mouth to contradict her and then caught the Queen's look. He retreated rapidly. Queen Anne glanced back at Cecily who held her gaze and dared her to utter the scathing remark that was no doubt on the tip of her tongue. Cecily strongly doubted she had said anything the Queen wouldn't have, and every so often Cecily grew impatient with waiting for the courtiers to catch up with the Queen's own thoughts.

Queen Anne flashed her a vicious smile. "Don't get too used to being right," she said and turned her attention back to the fight.

The first drops of rain began to fall. The storm was close.

"Stop fighting or the Queen dies!" A voice rang clear over the melee. It spoke the Avalish language but the accent was thick and heavy.

A man came out onto the main deck of the caravel with a woman held before him. She was taller than he was, in long red robes of a loose-fitting design, free of the tight bodices and boned skirts popular with the court ladies of Avalion. Her skin was deathly pale and accentuated by the long black hair that fell in curls to either side of her face. She bore herself like royalty, and no one doubted that this was the Queen of Attolia. Queen Anne almost purred with pleasure.

The man who peered out from behind her was less striking. His skin was dark and his long hair was caught back in a tight braid. There was a feather-shaped scar on his cheek, not large enough to pull his face out of shape. His left hand held onto the Queen tightly, but he held a curved hook with a pointed end carefully against the white of her neck. It was strapped to his arm, rather than held in his hand.

The fighting stuttered into silence, neither side certain how to continue, each looking to their Queen.

Queen Anne glanced once at Cecily and then, with a gesture, indicated that the Princess should take the wheel. The Queen walked down the steep steps to the main deck and the soldiers parted to allow her progress until she stood by the side of the ship.

"What do you want?" she called to the Attolian.

"In return for the Queen of Attolia, I want safe escort from this ship, a place in your court, and a chance to prove myself."

Queen Anne inclined her head. She liked bold men.

"How can I know your worth? How do I know I can trust you?"

"I'm delivering the Queen of Attolia to you. That should be worth something."

He held the Queen's gaze and everything waited upon her decision. Then finally she nodded. "Very well."

The next few minutes were tense. The Attolian soldiers begrudgingly shuffled aside, allowing room for their mysterious ally to bring forward the Attolian Queen, the point of his hook never straying from her throat. She said nothing, but gazed on the proceedings with an icy calm that was, in some way, more frightening than if she had wept or attempted to bargain. Once they reached the deck rail he thrust her up onto one of the planks that had been thrown across the gap.

She turned as the Tirnamag troops grabbed her and spoke for the first time. "Captain! Cut yourself loose and bear the news back to the King."

The effect was immediate. The Attolians hacked at the ropes that bound the two ships together. A couple of men advanced on the Attolian Queen's captor but he leaped nimbly up onto the rail and, even as the ships began to pull apart, jumped across the widening gap. For a moment he seemed suspended in mid air and then he landed on the deck of the _Golden Selkie_ and rolled, coming up neatly on his feet.

Several of the crew readied more grappling ropes but Queen Anne forestalled them, saying, "Leave it! I've got the prize I came for."

She marched up to the Queen of Attolia her expression clouded with anger, "Still, I am not happy at all. That tribute you were carrying to the Continental Powers. I would have liked that. It's not a good idea to deprive me of pretty things."

The Queen of Attolia gazed steadily at her, but said nothing. 

"Oh very well, sulk if you must," Queen Anne said, since it was clear Attolia had no response for her. "I'll have more ships out patrolling once this storm has passed. Maybe I can capture your ship then. That would be nice."

She turned away from the other queen to where several soldiers were dragging forward the one-handed man. 

"What is your name sailor?" she asked.

"I'm not a sailor," he said sulkily.

"I'm not a sailor, _Your Majesty_."

"I'm not a sailor, Your Majesty."

"Better!" The Queen regarded him, a dangerous smile hovering at the corners of her mouth.

"So, what is your name, you who are not a sailor?"

"Callum ap Stenides," he paused imperceptibly then added, "Your Majesty."

"Hmm... better. That is not entirely an Attolian name, is it?" 

"My mother was one of your people, Your Majesty. My father was patronoi in Attolia before _she_ seized power," he nodded to where the Queen of Attolia had been taken and the emphasis on the _she_ was heavy with bitterness.

"Really?" Queen Anne's face said she reserved judgement. "You know, I presume, that among the old gods Callum ap Meryl is the god of Coastal Waters." She paused for effect. "And also the god of liars and thieves."

His face went blank for a moment; then he grinned at the Queen with a look in his eyes that spoke of danger. "I make a point, Your Majesty, of only ever stealing one queen at a time."

She giggled. "I like you. You're funny. I think I'll keep you."

He inclined his head. "As Your Majesty wishes." He dipped his eyes and gazed up at her from under long lashes. The Queen smiled. She enjoyed courtiers who flirted with her.

Cecily watched the scene from where she stood at the wheel. She wasn't sure what the word patronoi meant among the Attolians. It seemed related to an archaic word that signified a free landholder, but Callum's manner suggested something more of a noble or courtier to her. She presumed he had been raised to better expectations than his current reality, and guessed he now found himself landless and in the service of an unsympathetic queen. 

Queen Anne appeared to draw the same conclusions. "You've lost your own land and wish for some from me in return for service?"

He smiled. "I wish only to serve one as beautiful as you, and earn my own position."

"Am I more beautiful than your Attolian queen?"

"Beauty requires passion rather than ice," he said.

Queen Anne preened. Cecily thought that his answer had been very carefully worded, but the Queen was never disposed to seek beneath the surface of compliments. She watched him with interest. On the whole the Queen's courtiers were intelligent or flatterers. They were very rarely both. But Cecily had a feeling this patronoi from Attolia could turn out to combine those qualities. That was always assuming the Queen didn't have him executed as a likely traitor as soon as they made landfall.

"Very well," said the Queen. "Let us hear you swear your oath of fealty. Dee will get all upset if I don't insist on one."

His eyes flitted up to the circlet on her head, then he dropped to one knee. "I, Callum ap Stenides, swear to do as you bid me so long as the Circlet of the Sea rests upon your head."

It was not quite the traditional oath of fealty to the crown, but it was close enough. After all, the traditional oath was also to the Circlet rather than the wearer.

Queen Anne stared at him a moment, as if expecting some kind of a trick, and her hand raised to touch the Circlet. "I had better hang onto it then," she said.

Then she turned back to the wheel, dismissing Callum.

* * *

  


_"I had heard tales of the palace and seen a rough sketch made by a traveller"_  


The storm was chasing us by the time the coast of Avalion came in sight. We rounded a headland and Caer Avalion was revealed clinging to the cliffs. The waves were already breaking high upon the rocks sending plumes of spray into the wind. The soldiers and sailors did not seem overly concerned. The robustness of the ships and sailors of Tirnamag in the face of bad weather was renowned throughout the world.

I had heard tales of the palace and seen a rough sketch made by a traveller. In reality, with dark storm clouds gathering above it, it was a grey and forbidding edifice. It sat on the edge of the cliffs, a sprawling complex of walls and turrets. As with so many royal buildings, successive generations of Avalish Kings had added to the palace in a haphazard piecemeal fashion. The palace also extended downwards into the cliffs, a complex of cellars and dungeons built into the cave system below. Occasionally cave entrances had been blocked up or extended, so that windowed turrets clung improbably to the cliff side itself.

The cliffs surrounded a large natural harbour. The bulk of the Avalish navy moored down the long river Aval that skirted the mountains and then led inland past the Queen's docks and shipyards and into the fertile hinterland. However, several ships were always in the harbour, as protection for the mouth of the Aval and a reminder for those in the castle of where Avalion's power lay. Between the harbour and the palace a rock bridge stretched out into the Narrow Sea. At the far side of the bridge was a small peninsula, that would have been an island but for that one slender path. It is probable that the rock bridge would have fallen into the sea eons ago but for the work of generations of Avalish, who had buttressed the ends to hold it in place.

Once there had been a fort on the peninsula, an older structure from before the arrival of the invaders, but it was long gone. The people of Attolia and Sounis had been building megarons in stone at the time, but the early peoples of Avalion had left few traces behind. All that stood on the peninsula now was a ring of misshapen stones, largely abandoned and ignored, for they formed a temple to the old gods that had been worshipped in Tirnamag before the invaders came.

I was not terribly happy about that thought. I suspected I was going to have to tread carefully around the old gods and their stone circle.

Behind the cliff face and the palace, hills and mountains rose up towards the sky. It was a strangely familiar landscape for all its grey stone and odd circles. It was raining though, and a cold wind was blowing by the time we got into port. I had only a linen shirt, and I shivered.

"Bit colder here than you're used to, I reckon," said one of the sailors and then laughed as if he'd somehow made a joke.

I smiled back. "Colder but safer," I said. 

"I wouldn't count on it. You've caught the Queen's eye and she can be capricious. You'd have done better to keep your head down and stay quiet."

Story of my life, really.

* * *

The great hall of the palace was made from carved wood and plaster. Thick tapestries, designed to trap heat in the room, hung on the walls. At the far end was the throne of Avalion on a raised dais. A smaller seat was next to it. Queen Anne sat on the throne and Princess Cecily sat to her right. Everyone else stood.

They had the same red curls that had made King Alex, their father, famous. But where Anne's face was round and well-proportioned, Cecily's was thin and pointed. Queen Anne glowed with the power of the crown, and the Princess looked small and shrewish by comparison.

The Queen of Attolia was brought before them. Full pomp and ceremony was being observed at this meeting. Both queen and princess wore heavy embroidered gowns, stiff with brocade and lace trimmings, a sharp contrast to the practical clothes they had worn on the ship. Queen Anne's dress was cloth of gold with a design of red and white roses sprawling over the skirts, while the bodice was a heavy red velvet. She had piled her red curls up on top of her head for the occasion and her hair dripped with pearls.

Cecily's clothing was more modest, as befitted her uncertain status. The dress was of black velvet with tiny pearls sewn around the edging. The underskirts were red. The seamstress had wanted to add a bird design to the bodice, but Cecily had refused. Instead pale grey roses, the royal flower, were stitched into the black. They were discreet and entirely inoffensive. The princess also watched the seamstress more carefully after that suggestion, unsure whether she was an ally or a trap.

Before them, the Queen of Attolia continued to wear the plain loose-fitting clothing she had on when captured. However, she had been searched for weapons and valuables. Two ruby earrings, that had once belonged to her, now hung from Queen Anne's ears, a pointed reminder of Attolia's new situation. A reminder also that Tirnamag was a nation of pirates, and Attolia was not to presume too heavily on the niceties of state in her treatment.

Attolia held her head high and proud. Her hands were clasped before her, and she said nothing.

Arthur Fotheringay, Earl of Atherex, stood to Queen Anne's left on the floor before the dais containing the thrones. Cecily watched the Queen favour him with smiles, her irritation with his caution during the battle forgotten. Cecily suspected the flirtation was a game the Queen was playing for her own amusement. Fotheringay was of good family and had a witty turn of phrase but his family wasn't _that_ powerful or wealthy, and for all his _bon mots_ he had the political instincts of a lapdog. Queen Anne liked to cultivate an air of empty-headed caprice, but the two half-sisters had grown up in the same classrooms and Cecily knew that Anne was shrewd and certainly had the self-control to resist the shapely curves of Fotheringay's calves. However, he was there now, and grinned eagerly as Attolia was led before them. 

"Well, what shall we do with you?" Queen Anne asked.

Attolia's eyebrow quirked but still she said nothing. Queen Anne rose and descended from her throne to circle her captive with interest.

"An alliance? A ransom? Perhaps Attolia should become a client state of Tirnamag?"

Fotheringay waved a hand. "May I make a suggestion, Majesty?"

Queen Anne shot him a sharp look. "Shut up, Fotheringay."

Fotheringay rocked back on his heels and closed his mouth. Like much of the court, he was wary of the Queen's rage.

The Queen turned back to Attolia. "Maybe you have a suggestion?"

Attolia smiled faintly at that, and stared back into Queen Anne's eyes. "You will do with me as you wish."

Queen Anne didn't move. It was unusual for a captive to refuse to play the Queen's games. Most were desperate to appease for her reputation preceded her. But Attolia, it seemed, knew her value as a captive, Queen Anne might choose to kill her in time but for now, she would seek other advantages.

"Well," said Queen Anne with a flounce, moving back towards the throne. "I suppose we shall just have to send a letter to your husband. A pretty ransom in return for keeping your pretty head on your pretty body will have to do for now."

* * *

The sailor I spoke to was called Black Jestyn because, I gathered, of his short stature and jet black hair. I watched him closely as we disembarked. It disturbed me that I had grown used to instinctively knowing Eddisian from Attolian from Sounisian, and understanding how each related to the other. Black Jestyn looked different from the other sailors, but what that signified, I could not entirely tell.

Since he had stood beside me as the _Golden Selkie_ sailed back to port, Black Jestyn had adopted a somewhat proprietorial air where I was concerned. He was no doubt eager to brag about the traitor Attolian that had delivered his Queen to Tirnamag. I indulged him a little by complaining of the harsh conditions and poor pay in the Attolian navy and, rather more truthfully, describing the Queen's approach to dealing with traitors.

"You're lucky you never got on her bad side until now then," he said.

Sometimes I think the gods put words in the mouths of other mortals just to point out the irony of a situation to me. Though it's entirely possible they do it for the same reasons my tutors used to rap my knuckles when I was getting too cocky and showing off.. 

The _Golden Selkie_ moored below the palace. I looked at the small boats that were ferrying the crew to the forbidding cliffs below the rambling edifice.

"Where are we going?" I asked Black Jestyn.

"The crew of the _Selkie_ sleep in the caves below the palace," he said. "It's the privilege of the flagship."

"A privilege to sleep in caves?"

"They're pretty good, lodging is free, so's the food."

"What's the down side?" I asked.

Jestyn took my remark at face value. "Well you're always on call for the ship and you need a pass to get out into the town. You have to serve your term."

I climbed gingerly into the boat and allowed it to rock as it took my weight. 

"Careful there!" someone said.

I looked at the town over the water. At some point I would have to get there.

Jestyn continued to chatter about the caves, and I gathered that they had been hollowed out into the cliff and converted into small partitioned rooms, each large enough to house a couple of men. Jestyn suggested we share. Several remarks were on the tip of my tongue about how he revealed too much of himself with such a request, but I remembered to bite them back in time. After all, at the moment, I needed to ingratiate myself with _someone_ and Jestyn seemed like a good place to start. I did look around at the other soldiers and sailors in our little rowing boat and had the uncomfortable feeling that we'd already separated ourselves out as the ones who were different.

"Where are you from?" I asked casually.

"The Dark Valleys."

"Where are they?" I asked and let him fill me in on the geography of Tirnamag and the history of the three kingdoms of Avalion, Dunethir and the Dark Valleys that shared the island. sometimes as separate crowns and at other times united under one monarch as they were now. He didn't mention the late queen who had come from the Dark Valleys. I thought that was an interesting omission.

* * *

The next day, the court went hunting. Jestyn was holding Cecily's horse as she entered the courtyard. He had an understanding with the Master of the Stables and it gave him an excuse to come up from the caves and speak to her without drawing too much attention. 

"You risk too much," she told him, and not for the first time. 

Jestyn shrugged. He had worked for Angevin, the Old Queen's spymaster, who had followed her quickly to the block when Queen Anne came to the throne. Jestyn had been overlooked in the purge. He had never been a particularly visible part of Angevin's network. In the days of turmoil after King Alex's death when the Old Queen had sought to seize the throne in her own name, Angevin had quietly destroyed all evidence of Jestyn's association with him and warned the younger man to stay clear, a back-up in case everything went awry. Everything had indeed gone awry in short order and when Queen Anne had swept triumphantly into Caer Avalion at the head of her army, Jestyn had been lurking among the sailors in the caves. He had been attached to the _Golden Selkie_ ever since. 

"They say the Queen is soon to announce an engagement," Jestyn said. He'd managed to pick up some of the threads of Angevin's old network and he relayed what news he could to the princess.

She rarely commented on his offerings, but she had never told him to stop. King Alex had disinherited Anne when he married the Old Queen from the Valleys. It had been a political alliance. The Dark Valleys were now a part of Tirnamag, where before they had been a separate nation. They were restive under Anne's rule; she was not of their royal line and she was inimical to the old gods to whom the valley folk clung. To Jestyn's mind Princess Cecily was his queen, and he gave her what aid he could.

Cecily frowned. "I have heard nothing about an engagement."

"They say an ambassador is coming from the Mede looking for an alliance. They say it would be a good match for the Queen."

In Jestyn's opinion, it would be an appalling match for the Queen but that didn't mean Anne wouldn't make it. She could not afford to marry any of Avalion's nobility, for it would unbalance the delicate networks of power and influence in the country. Avalion was the largest, wealthiest and most populous of the three countries. Its nobility dominated the court, the army and the navy. They would not stand for her to marry a noble from either the Dark Valleys nor Dunethir, even though that would have been less damaging to the balance of power. She couldn't afford to marry a monarch of a nearby country and make Tirnamag a vassal state, certainly not with the fate of the Dark Valleys standing as a recent and object lesson to what could follow such a move. Jestyn imagined that the reasoning that made the Mede Empire a good alliance was that it was far away, and its control over Tirnamag would probably be light. 

Cecily patted the neck of her horse absently, Jestyn could see her considering the situation. Once the Queen had an heir of her body, Cecily's position would become even more precarious. Jestyn suspected that the non-existence of such an heir was one of the few things keeping the Princess alive.

"Who told you this?" she asked after a moment. 

"Harris told me that we're expecting an ambassador, and Margaret that she was considering a marriage proposal." 

Harris worked in the kitchens and had complained of the banquet that was planned in the Mede's honour, and of the inconvenience of ordering special food. Margaret was one of the Queen's ladies-in-waiting.

The Queen called the hunt to order, and Cecily swung up into the saddle. "Anything else?" she asked, looking down at him.

"Not much, I've made friends with the man who handed over the Queen of Attolia. He might prove useful, or Attolia herself might if you can get close to her."

She nodded. Both were unknowns at present, but potentially useful.

"I assume her ship got away," she said.

"No one saw it leave the Narrow Sea. The Queen has patrols out looking for it."

"It could have slipped away unnoticed."

"That's what most people think."


	2. Chapter 2

I was pleased that I had picked Black Jestyn as a friend. He cultivated an air of friendly obliviousness which allowed him to get on well with the other soldiers and sailors without being close to any of them. He also got on well with the men in the Queen's stables, the kitchen staff, the maids, and even a few of the higher class servants who waited on the nobility. It was easy enough to tag along with him as he roamed around the servants' areas of the palace, collecting gossip as we went.

He didn't seem to particularly mind my presence, and I was careful to do nothing that might suggest I was dangerous. In the evenings we ate in a large wooden hall on the top of the cliff. It wasn't particularly polished, not like the great hall of the Queen, but it was large enough to hold most of the servants and the crew of the _Golden Selkie_. I gained a certain amount of social credit since I had brought a whole new set of stories with me from Attolia and Eddis and simply by _being nice_ and innocuous, exhausting as that was, I started to become an accepted part of the group.

Then we had weekly fencing practice. The weather here in Avalion is atrocious; hardly a day goes by without stinging wet rain turning everything to mud. Grey clouds continually obscure the sun, and the grey stone of the palace and the grey rocks of the cliff towering out of the grey waters of the bay give the whole place a grim and forbidding air. So I was complaining about the weather, since it seemed an uncontentious topic of conversation, and I was complaining loudly enough for people to hear.

In my defence I did not expect Lord Fotheringay to notice, let alone take exception to, my remarks.

"I take it that you do not appreciate the Queen's hospitality?" 

The Queen had come to watch the fencing practice, as was her habit, and half the popinjays of the court had come with her, including the good Earl.

"On the contrary, her board and lodging are beyond compare. However, I hardly think the weather is in her control," I shot back, but a silence had fallen around the training yard and I was suddenly standing on my own.

Lord Fotheringay regarded me with a supercilious air, clearly expecting to score some points with his sovereign. Behind him, the Queen sat with an expectant look on her face. I was going to get no help from that direction, as she was enjoying both his nettling and my discomfort.

"The Queen of Tirnamag," Lord Fotheringay said, "commands both sea and storm." The phrase was well worn. I had heard it many times already in my few days in the country.

"In which case, she should send the storm clouds away, at least long enough for those of us with no spare changes of clothing to get dry."

Fotheringay swished his practice sword. A quick gesture intended to give an opponent a stinging rap. No doubt he meant to pay me for my insolence. Unfortunately, I had not been expecting the move. I instinctively jumped back instead of allowing the blow to land. It made him stagger slightly, as he'd put too much force into the blow to hold his footing when it did not connect.

The Queen snickered ever so slightly, then clapped her hands. "You must fight for my honour Fotheringay," she called, settling herself down into her chair eagerly.

I don't suppose Fotheringay was any more happy with the situation than I was, judging by the way he grimaced at his wooden sword. To my surprise, Jestyn appeared beside me and pressed a practice sword into my hand. "Let him chase you around the yard a bit and she'll probably be satisfied," he muttered.

I looked at the Queen. I wasn't at all sure she'd be satisfied with a simple chase. Still, when Fotheringay swung at me I leaped back again with a comical yelp, and swiped back at him in a wide arc which he easily dodged. As Jestyn advised, I let him chase me around the yard a bit. It wasn't like training with Costis, though, who never really intended to hurt me, and I was forced to parry from time to time for fear of injury to my head or hand. Fotheringay got more and more angry as he failed to land blow after blow and he put more force into his swings. I didn't see how I was going to get out of the situation without a bad beating, so I began to talk back as I dodged and ran.

"You are putting to much force into your blows! You'll keep stumbling if you don't control them more carefully," I cautioned him, ducking and turning as I did so, so that his feet did indeed stumble as he attempted to follow me.

The Queen snickered again.

I continued to needle him, blocking more of his blows and criticising his technique until the Queen started to laugh and, following her lead, the court did too. Fotheringay was now red in the face. 

"The problem with these wild attacks," I observed, "is that they also leave you open on your left." To prove my point I knocked his sword aside and gave him a sound tap on his left side. He actually yelped. I danced away quickly and turned to the Queen who was clapping her hands in delight. I bowed low.

"Your Majesty, forgive my careless remarks. I hope I have provided sufficient entertainment to make up for the slight."

"You were very rude," she said, "but I'll let you off just this once."

"Your Majesty," Fotheringay protested.

"Oh, do shut up Fotheringay, he's funny." She looked back at me. "You are gentry in Attolia, you said."

" _Patronoi_ your majesty."

"Well we can't have you roughing it with the soldiers and sailors. Get him a second set of clothes and bring him up to the Great Hall. He can entertain us some more."

She clapped her hands peremptorily and the court rose to follow her from the yard, Fotheringay shooting me a dirty look as he went.

Only a sombre man in black with a dark and lugubrious expression on a heavyset face remained. I identified him as Aleister Dee, the Secretary of State.

"You did well for yourself there," he remarked.

"I'm tired of sleeping in your damp caves." 

"Well, we'll have to see how you do in the court. Follow me."

So, it seems, I am to become a courtier.

* * *

"About which you look remarkably smug," the Queen of Attolia observed.

"The caves were cold and wet and dull, and I do need more clothes." 

He had succeeded in climbing up out of the sailors' caves to the castle above. It had taken him two days to master the routes and another searching the lower windows of the palace to find Attolia's rooms. The long extended twilight of the north had helped a great deal, obscuring his actions from prying eyes and yet providing enough light for him to see what he was doing.

"I distinctly recall you saying that you would remain inconspicuous," the Queen pointed out.

The Thief shrugged. "You didn't really believe that?"

"No, but I wasn't expecting you to to take on the Queen's favourite in single combat – and then outmatch him."

"I don't think anyone really noticed that I outmatched him."

The Queen of Attolia suppressed a sigh. The Thief's ability to deceive himself was matched only by his ability to deceive others. "Let us hope so. This is dangerous enough as it is. Anyone might guess your identity. You can't rely on playing the fool as a smokescreen forever."

"It certainly never fooled you."

She leaned forward to kiss him gently through the window. "Well, you shouldn't have shown off your abilities in my presence so often."

"And I was being so discreet."

"Only to everyone else."

He shivered, and for a moment the Queen of Attolia thought that old terrors had come upon him, but he was still smiling with no strain in his expression.

"You're getting cold," she said.

"The weather here really is foul." He shivered again in the icy wind. "I only have the one linen shirt."

He would no doubt have complained some more but she kissed him again to stop it. "As the gods once told you, stop whining. This was entirely your idea and you know it."

His eyes darkened for a moment, "And you are risking far more than I."

"If you get caught I suspect it will be worse for you than for me. Take care, Eugenides, I am not the only person who can not afford to lose you."

He nodded slowly. "I will do my best, my Queen."

* * *

Cecily reasoned that ingratiating herself with the Queen of Attolia should not be too hard. The woman had no friends at court and spent most of her days in a small turret room down on the cliff face with a guard placed discreetly at the door. Some evenings she came up to the court, where Queen Anne enjoyed making a show of treating her almost, but not quite, as if she were an honoured guest of state. Attolia sat, stony faced, through the insults and jibes, picking delicately at her food and barely saying a word.

However, Cecily was forced to move carefully. Being seen to be too friendly with Attolia would arouse suspicions of conspiracy. She took to dropping comments into conversation around Queen Anne about Attolia's dress, observing that the other Queen had no ladies in waiting. She managed to infuse the words with a certain amount of bitterness. One of Anne's small petty gestures had been to limit Cecily's own retinue to two young women of barely-noble birth. Cecily herself often struggled to be dressed and presentable for court occasions. Queen Anne enjoyed the opportunity to make a sharp and pointed remark when the Princess failed.

The Princess also occasionally wondered aloud what lady would be of noble enough birth to wait on the Queen of Attolia, and yet lowly enough not to consider attending a prisoner to be an insult. Then she waited for Queen Anne's own spite to do its work.

She was surprised in the end, however, that the suggestion did not come from Queen Anne herself. They were crowded into the Queen's small audience chamber. Anne was consulting with Dee about the latest reports coming in from along the coast while, at the same time, being fitted for a new dress. The seamstress fidgeted around her with pins and muslin as she tried to pull the bodice into the exact shape that would accentuate the Queen's figure just so.

"What do you think?" Anne demanded, turning to her ladies, interrupting Dee in the middle of his report about sightings of the missing Attolian ship.

"You look lovely, your majesty," said Beatrice, who had designs on becoming a favourite of the Queen.

"Much better than the Queen of Attolia looked last night," Cecily threw in.

The other ladies quickly took up the refrain. Queen Anne was jealous of beauty in other women, and the Queen of Attolia was undoubtedly lovely. As the ladies criticised the other woman's face, figure and bearing, Cecily waited.

"And her dress, so ill-fitting, you would think she had never worn fine clothes before." That was Isabella, who had yet to learn the difference between criticising a rival's looks and suggesting that it was only because of poor tailoring.

The Queen's eyes fell on the Princess. "As Cecily has pointed out, no truly noble woman is going to help her with her clothes."

Cecily dropped her eyes demurely and muttered something inconsequential.

"Perhaps Princess Cecily should take on that role. It might be useful for her to learn the ways of another court." Cecily looked up, surprised. It was Dee who had broken into the conversation. 

There was little trust wasted between the Princess and the Secretary of State and she could think of no reason why he would want to place two potentially dangerous women in close proximity.

In the silence that followed, Queen Anne gave Dee a very hard look, obviously as startled as the Princess by his suggestion. 

"Very well." Anne tossed her head. It seemed she had decided to let this play out and see where Dee was leading her. She threw some of Dee's reports at Cecily. "See if you can find out where her ship has gone, while you are about it."

The look she followed it up with suggested she hoped that Cecily would swallow the insult and play spy. Not for the first time, Cecily wondered how her half-sister could manage to combine such acuity and such obliviousness in one gesture.

* * *

"That shirt belongs to Fotheringay." Queen Anne narrowed her eyes at me from where she sat on her throne.

Fotheringay, sitting beside her as was his wont, raised his head sharply.

I looked down and pulled at the embroidered hem of the shirt, as if in surprise at seeing it for the first time.

"Is it, Your Majesty?" I asked. "I traded for it with one of the sailors. My own two, alas, were both in some need of a wash. It was hardly fit for an audience with one such as yourself."

I had noticed how the courtiers tended to bow when they offered up compliments to the queen and made an imitation of one now.

Queen Anne simpered. "But it is definitely Fotheringay's shirt. How careless of you to lose it, Arthur!"

Lord Fotheringay's eyebrows drew together in displeasure. "You are very droll, Your Majesty."

"I am, aren't I. Shall I have the Attolian return it?"

"It would only have to be burned, your majesty."

"I don't see why. I'm not the one who uses scented hair oil," I couldn't help pointing out.

The Queen giggled.

"If Your Majesty were to allow me down to the town, then I could buy clothes of more certain provenance," I suggested.

She gave me a hard look and then giggled again, no doubt to disguise her sudden attention. "No, I don't think so. Where would you get any money from? I know I haven't given you any. No, I'll send Dee down to the town and tell him to buy you some more."

"Are you sure he is worth it, Your Majesty?" Fotheringay interrupted. "We've only the Attolian's word for it that he is noble."

"He's noble enough to beat you in a sword fight," the Queen said.

"Always happy for a rematch," I offered, with a sardonic smile at Fotheringay. His frown darkened.

"Be nice, Stenides. Fotheringay is looking all down-hearted and sad. Fotheringay, what can I do to cheer you up?"

"Nothing, my lady, but to favour me with the sweet sound of your voice."

The Queen simpered again and I allowed myself to fade into the background. Her attention was a challenge, and it was tempting to dance around it and see how far I could push my insolence. But it would serve my purposes better if she were more focused on Fotheringay.

* * *

Magda, mother of crows, came to the Princess Cecily in the moments between night and dawn. Her black wings spread across the sky. Her gaze was implacable, yet Cecily stood tall. No descendant of the Kings of the Valleys trembled in fear before god nor man. 

Cecily dreamed of the Old Queen's death, kneeling before the headsman and his axe, with Queen Anne seated above her on the throne, triumphant in her new power. When the Old Queen had sat at King Alex's side Tirnamag had, briefly, been dominated by worship of the old gods once more. Yet she had been cruel to his elder daughter in a thoughtless way, and that cruelty had eventually killed her. The cautious alliance between Anne and Cecily, forged in a childhood under the wayward regard of King Alex, had crumbled in the cold light of Anne's revenge. Cecily would never forgive her, and Anne, knowing that fact, would never trust Cecily.

Queen Anne had been careful not to forbid the worship of the old gods when she came to power, but she made her lack of enthusiasm for them clear, and court and country followed suit.

The crows flew above Cecily's head. She hefted her sword in battle, heard the clash of steel against steel, and felt the vigour of the fight. Before her stretched all of Tirnamag; high snow-capped mountains and gentle rolling hills; wide flowing rivers and small brooks and streams with their mill wheels, sluice gates and salmon traps; chalky downs covered in sheep, granite cliffs, and mines full of tin; the woodlands planted full of oak and stocked with deer for the pleasure of the royal hunt.

Then the day dawned. 

Her two ladies hurried to lace her into the tight-fitting clothes of the court. Then she quietly traversed the corridors to sit with the Queen of Attolia in the small turret room. Attolia was embroidering a deep red dress that had been commissioned for her.

"Princess Cecily," she said, a formal greeting.

"I am to act as your lady in waiting, while you are here, and to learn of your country," Cecily said.

"Are you, now. Well you had better help with this embroidery, then," said Attolia, and her head bent once more over the task.

* * *

I found Jestyn back in our room in the caves. He looked up cautiously as I entered.

"Fortune smiles upon you, Callum."

"I'm not so sure about that," I admitted. "Down here and forgotten about, the worst I had to fear was a clean death in some sea battle. Up there, well, when her Majesty tires of my capering, my end is likely to be far less pleasant. I did not intend to get noticed again."

Jestyn laughed. "Well, you certainly gave us all some good entertainment. Where did you learn to fight?"

"My father taught me. He was a soldier. Look, do you want to come up to the court? You could be my attendant and keep me out of trouble. Pinch my elbow or something if I'm about to say something that will upset the Queen?"

"No one knows from one moment to the next what may upset the Queen."

"That doesn't alter the fact that I'm working blind, and am even more likely to upset her than someone else. It would bring you closer to the little princess as well."

"What do you mean?" Jestyn's mouth turned down in a sullen scowl.

"Don't deny it. I've seen you manufacturing opportunities to get close to her, holding her horse, carrying wine in the great hall."

I saw the concern beneath the scowl. I nudged his elbow. "I won't tell anyone, promise."

He regarded me suspiciously but the temptation of rooms situated in the palace itself proved too great. "Very well," he said at last.

* * *

  


_The landward end of the rock bridge lay between the outer and inner walls of the palace._   


Most days, towards dusk, Princes Cecily visited the Blessed Isle that was connected to the palace by the small rock bridge. Inside the stone circle was an old barrow cut into the earth and within the barrow were altars to the old gods. The ceremonial sword of the Dark Valleys, which the Old Queen had carried into battle, lay in state upon Magda's altar. Cecily would clean the altar of dust and polish the blade. Of old, the treasures of Avalion had been kept within the barrow but little now remained. The sword was left there. It should have passed to Cecily, but to claim it would be to claim her right to rule the Dark Valleys, and that moment had not yet come.

The landward end of the rock bridge lay between the outer and inner walls of the palace. Cecily was surprised when Jestyn joined her from the shadows as she walked towards the bridge.

"How did you get up here?" she asked.

"Callum has asked me to attend him now that he is a favourite of the Queen."

"Do you think he is genuine?" 

"Hard to say. I would not be a usual choice, but who knows how these Attolians do things and he certainly knows no one else in the palace so well as me. Being quartered in the upper floors also has its advantages."

"You have some news for me," she surmised.

"I'm not sure," he said, handing her a letter.

She glanced around and was relieved to see that they were far enough from both palace and the guardhouse on the rock bridge to be all but invisible in the dusk. The seal on the letter was that of the Duke of Avaldale. His lands lay close to the palace, and included one of the mountain passes between the Dark Valleys and the Royal demesne. His family had been close allies of the Avalish royalty for many generations. The Princess broke the seal cautiously and read the contents with mounting surprise. Then she hastily handed the letter back to Jestyn.

"Burn it at your first opportunity."

"What does it say?"

"He offers safe passage to my forces across the mountain passes. His condition is marriage to his eldest son. He claims he can have horses ready to convey me hence any time I wish."

Jestyn frowned. "There have been rumours brewing of rebellion in the Valleys. They are not happy with the way the succession was settled."

"The Duke claims that forces have been organised in my name by some local lordling. They are ready to march."

"The Duke of Avaldale is playing kingmaker," Jestyn said.

"So it would seem. He tried to get Queen Anne to consider his son as a husband, but I don't think anyone thought it was a serious prospect. I'm surprised he did."

"What will you do?" Jestyn asked.

"Nothing in haste." The offer was too sudden. She needed to discover more before she made any decision. She needed to discover who knew of her association with Jestyn and what that signified. "Burn that letter before it can be discovered by Dee's spies."

Cecily crossed the rock bridge, passing through the small guardhouse that spanned its centre. She reached he circle of stones and entered the barrow by the long passage that led down into the rock. Except in high summer, it was always damp at the entrance but the floor became dry and sandy as the visitor went further in. The passageway opened out eventually into a large chamber where the altars stood. At the end of the chamber was a heavy locked wooden door and beyond that, it was said, the old treasury, empty of everything save the Circlet of the Sea.

Cecily lingered over cleaning the altar and sharpening the sword. Not because much needed to be done, but because the Duke of Avaldale's letter troubled her. Her instincts told her there was a conspiracy afoot, but she had yet to understand the shape of it.

* * *

Most of the time they spent together, the Queen of Attolia and the Princess of Tirnamag sat in silence in the turret room. Attolia did not appear much disposed to conversation, and shut down Cecily's attempts to learn of Attolia and its court. The next morning, however, Cecily arrived in the turret chamber to find Attolia standing by the barred window, a flush of colour in her pale cheeks and anger dancing in her eyes. 

"I'm sorry, do I interrupt something?" Cecily asked, glancing around, half expecting to find Queen Anne there.

Attolia shook her head and sat down in her chair, picking up her sewing from the chest where it had been left the night before. "No, you do not. I am irritated for no reason, much as usual."

"It can not be easy being held prisoner," Cecily ventured.

"Many things are not easy in this life. I also know what it is to be the heir to a throne and yet held powerless at the whim of others."

Cecily looked at her in surprise. It was hard to imagine Attolia as powerless. Even imprisoned as she was, she exuded confidence. The tales that reached Tirnamag of her rule spoke of a woman who was terrible and ruthless and who governed her wayward husband with a rod of iron.

Attolia jabbed a needle into the cloth more viciously than was necessary and then slowed, making a neat little stitch, calmness descending. "I did a lot of embroidery then as well," she said at last, and her voice dropped to no more than a whisper. "But I used my time wisely, as should you."

Cecily instinctively glanced around the room. It was a small circular chamber which hung out over the sea, accessible only by the door through which the Princess had entered. Even so, the quietness of Attolia's tone made Cecily aware that there were always ears listening throughout the palace, and that the guard at the end of the narrow corridor might have sharper ears than he let on.

Cecily bent her head over her embroidery and wondered what, had she been in her position, the Queen of Attolia would have chosen to do about the Duke of Avaldale's offer.

* * *

There is no conspiracy room, as such, in Caer Avalion. In fact, its design is somewhat frustrating. Clearly no one had let a thief anywhere near the architectural plans. Still, all large buildings require chimneys and flues, and beams and rafters to support the roof even if the Avalish, unaccountably given their climate, can not grasp the concept of a hypocaust.

There are also places that serve a similar function to the conspiracy room my ancestors had built in the palace of Attolia. Rooms which were convenient to reach, away from the main thoroughfares of state and too small or awkwardly shaped to have real use. None of them had a false ceiling, but I had learned that people seldom glance upwards and in the dim light of the oncoming winter it was difficult to see much up in the roof spaces. I learned a great deal about the intrigue of the Avalish court from the rafters of those rooms. 

My breakthrough came, however, the day I overheard Dee talking with the Duke of Avaldale. 

"My man passed on the letter to Jestyn," the Duke told Dee.

"Very good. Jestyn will pass it on to the Princess."

"You know that I will bring you down with me, should the letter fall into the hands of the Queen."

I smiled from my position in the rafters. It seemed the Duke was well aware of the ways these traps could be set. He must have been offered a great deal to risk implicating himself in treason at Dee's behest.

"I'm aware," Dee said dismissively. "Do not worry about your part in this coming to light. After all, your men are well positioned on the pass; who will doubt you when you hold off an army of rebels?"

"I do know that you intend the Mede to fight back the rebels long before they reach my mountain pass."

Dee sucked in his breath. "You presume too much."

"I very much doubt I do. The Mede have sent proposals of marriage to the Queen. What could be more persuasive for her than a sudden need of their military might?"

"What do _you_ want?" Dee asked. "The Queen can not be persuaded to marry your son."

"I'm aware of that, but I know how the Mede operate. If they gain a foothold here, then within three generations only those of Mede descent will have any power. I understand the ambassador is travelling with his sister."

"You do indeed presume a great deal. She is a princess among the Mede. I doubt I have that much influence."

"I am confident in your ability, especially since I can bring this whole charade crumbling down around your ears if I choose to reveal it."

I wondered, from my position up in the rafters, how much the Mede were paying Dee for his service, and how wise the Duke of Avaldale really was to make such demands of the Secretary.

Dee straightened up, shaking his shoulders as if divesting himself of concern over Avaldale's demands. "We will speak of this later. For the moment, I have a message for the Queen from the Mede, and they want it delivered soon and in person."

I waited several minutes after they had left before climbing down from my perch and hurrying back to my room. I was not entirely surprised to find Black Jestyn hovering anxiously by the fireplace.

"What is it?"

"The Queen wants your presence. She wanted it ten minutes ago."

I checked my clothes. There was not too much in the way of dust and grime to give away my activities. 

"If you put on the blue cloak it will conceal those smudges," Jestyn suggested noticing my examination.

He had pulled a hip-length cloak out from the cupboard, one of a collection Dee had brought up from the town. It was of cheap tailoring – Dee clearly hadn't expected me to notice, or lacked discernment himself – but it would have to do. I swung it over my shoulders, letting Jestyn fix it into place, and then I set off to the throne room with Jestyn trailing nervously behind.

"I suppose I had better go. Though she doesn't wear that Circlet of hers very often, and I only promised to obey her while she was actually wearing it," I mused as we hurried through the corridors.

"Do you really want to chance that?" Black Jestyn asked.

"For this, no. Though I'm curious why she doesn't wear it more often. She seems to like her gold and jewels."

"It is a relic of the old gods. The Queens of Avalion have always worn it when at sea, but that doesn't make her happy about it."

I supposed it didn't.

Dee was standing before the Queen when I arrived, while Fotheringay sat at her right in Princess Cecily's usual chair. It was a gesture of staggering familiarity, presumably intended to convey the Queen's displeasure at my tardiness. Fotheringay grinned smugly as I appeared.

"Callum, you're late!" the Queen snapped.

"My apologies, Your Majesty." I bowed low.

Dee spoke. "Don't you agree, Callum ap Stenides, that Her Majesty has little use for the Queen of Attolia beyond the ransom she can bring? The Mede have said they are prepared to treble anything offered by Attolis. They have a long quarrel with her, I understand, and she has cheated, deceived and ill used their ambassadors."

I could that see Queen Anne was considering the proposition. After all, Dee was right; there was little she could do with Attolia beyond collecting a ransom. "What think you, Stenides?" Queen Anne asked, looking at me curiously.

My blood ran cold. This was an eventuality I had not considered. But I could not afford for my dismay to show. "I suppose you can not kill her. It would set too evil a precedent," I hoped I looked politically naive and a little sorry that executing Attolia wasn't an option.

"There is a King in Attolia who would rule in her stead. He is controlled by Eddis if the reports we hear are true," Dee said, in the manner of one educating a child. "There is nothing to be gained by her death."

"But you were happy enough to capture her," I pointed out.

The Queen tapped her foot. "That is because we're hoping for a ransom. The royal fleet doesn't come cheap, you know."

“Surely the fleet pays its way in prizes. Everyone in Attolia knows of your success among the islands of the Middle Sea,” I said.

“The prizes barely cover the cost of the raids,” said Dee.

“In fact the raids would be impossible without the money the Mede contribute,” added Fotheringay.

The Queen scowled at him. I managed not to smile. Fotheringay seemed oblivious to the fact he had just told me something I had guessed at, but had not known for certain.

"Treble the money offered by Attolis would be a great deal," Dee said.

"What has Attolis offered?" I asked innocently.

The tapping of the Queen's foot increased with irritation. "Nothing, so far."

"Anyone would think he didn't want her back," Fotheringay suggested.

"So, at present, the Mede are offering thrice nothing," I pointed out.

"True," said the Queen. "Dee?"

"I'm sure if no offer is forthcoming from Attolis they will still pay generously for her," Dee said, bowing, but he looked as if he had swallowed a lemon. It was clear now what the Queen's decision would be.

Queen Anne inclined her head to one side and smiled coquettishly at me and Lord Fotheringay. "We will consider the offer, but first we wish to see what response Attolis makes to our demands."

That response, I knew, would be some time in coming. I had bought a little time, but Attolia needed to escape soon, or it would be too late.

* * *

That afternoon, Callum put in an appearance at the window of Attolia's turret. Cecily gasped in surprise when she saw him. There was a hundred foot drop from the window down to the rocks below.

Attolia looked up at the sound. Her eyes narrowed on seeing the face at the window. "Ignore him," she instructed. "He just does it to annoy me."

"Maybe I relish the opportunity to hear another voice speak my language," Callum suggested in his thick accent.

"I'm not speaking your language," Attolia pointed out and fixed her eyes back down on her embroidery.

"Don't you want to know what's going on in the court?"

"Go away!" she hissed.

He smirked and winked at Princess Cecily. "The Mede has offered to pay triple any ransom offered by Attolis for you."

"I thought you'd like to know," he added, when Attolia made no response.

"I am aware that I have been reduced to the status of a pawn in other people's games," she said. There was acid in her voice.

"You could never be a mere pawn," he said, his voice softening, but she didn't look up. "Did she tell you how she poisoned her first husband?" he asked the Princess.

Cecily shook her head, still astounded that he was there at all. 

"Sold all her jewellery to buy the loyalty of a few guards, who promptly shot the next noble who thought he could claim her hand and thereby the throne," Callum said cheerfully. "You need to watch yourself around her."

Attolia flushed and when she looked across at the window, her eyes were bright and dangerous. "I should have executed you when I had the chance," she said.

He flinched momentarily, then smirked once more. "And yet you're in there and I'm out here. Watch which lessons you teach little Cecily."

He vanished from the window. Attolia dropped her head back over the embroidery, but her breaths were short and shallow as if she had been running. 

"I do not blame you for seeking to control your own destiny," Cecily ventured carefully. She had learned more about the politics of Attolia in the past minute than she had all the previous hours she had spent in the turrent room. Some parts of the tale had reached Tirnamag, but only now did Cecily fully grasp that the Queen must have been passed among the nobles in a marriage market, with the throne as the ultimate prize.

Attolia finished the flower she was working in careful silence, then bit the end of the thread. Only then did she look up at the princess.

"Everyone you meet is seeking to use you, Cecily. Callum no less than anyone else, with his hints and manipulations. Before long, you are going to need to make some choices about how much you will allow."

"It is different when it is your sister."

"You know her better than I, but I have heard there was no love lost between her and your mother. I would tread carefully if I were you."

The Old Queen had tried too hard to re-establish the old gods, and that had made enemies of those who might otherwise have helped her. She had failed to hold the throne as Cecily's regent after the death of King Alex. It would, of course, all have been irrelevant if she had ever managed to bear the son she had hoped for, but King Alex had had only daughters and the nobles had, in the end, chosen to be ruled by the elder of the two. Cecily bent her head once more over the needlework and pondered on politics and betrayal.

Then Attolia gave a sigh, as if giving in to something, and she began to speak. She related to Cecily all the plans and schemes of her late prospective father-in-law, his advice on how to run a country and control its barons. She spoke of her own desperate fight to gain and hold her crown. As she had been instructed, Cecily listened and learned.


	3. Chapter 3

I spotted Jestyn in one of the taverns along the waterfront. They were rough-and-ready establishments that did not question the people who gathered there too closely. I slipped into the seat opposite him and passed him a mug of ale.

"I see you got a pass to come down to the town," I said.

"I thought you had been forbidden," he replied.

I shrugged. "Things to do and people to see, though mostly I'm going to pretend I was just following you and looking for a good time."

"And why's that?" Jestyn looked at me suspiciously.

"Because one of Aleister Dee's spies has spotted me. No, don't scan around like that. If you must locate him, he's at the table in the far corner. The man with the ill-advised doublet and a sour expression."

"I've seen him at court."

"Dee has a network of informants in both the court and the town. It's impressive, if annoying."

"And how do you know I'm not one of his informants?" asked Jestyn, looking confused and suspicious.

"Mostly because he's trying to use you to unwittingly trap the Princess Cecily into an ill-advised rebellion. I hope she had the good sense to burn that letter the Duke of Avaldale passed your way, though I'm guessing she did. The fact that she hasn't vanished off to triumphantly lead the troops says good things about her common sense."

Jestyn began to rise up in anger, but I grabbed his arm and pulled him down. "Do not storm out, because Dee will want to know why, and then we will no doubt both be greeting tomorrow from the comfort of one of his torturer's cells."

Jestyn glared at me but kept his place. 

"I need to get the Queen of Attolia out of here quickly. You want to put Cecily on the throne. We can help each other."

"You're the reason the Queen of Attolia is here in the first place," Jestyn said.

"No, I'm the reason she's not here on her own without any support. The ship was doomed. This way, she has me on the inside." 

It took nearly a minute for Jestyn to process that information, and the series of expressions that chased across his face in the interim were almost comical.

"I could take this to Queen Anne," he said.

"In which case I would tell her about Princess Cecily and the Duke of Avaldale. Then Dee would doubtless imply that we are all of us conspiring together. He wants the Queen to believe that, certainly, though he would prefer it if she didn't find out until Cecily is leading her army towards the Mountains. If we are going to be executed as traitors to the Queen, then we may as well get in a bit of conspiring to our own benefit while we're about it."

Jestyn blanched. "You are very certain about all of this."

"Dee is working for the Mede. They want to marry Queen Anne to one of their own; get rid of the Princess Cecily so she is no longer a threat to their new throne; and lay hands on the Queen of Attolia. If Attolia and Cecily should conspire to raise a rebellion which Queen Anne then needs Mede support to suppress, it would all be terribly convenient. For the Mede, at any rate."

Jestyn looked a little sick. "Is there anything we can do?"

I began to set out my plan.

* * *

Once upon a time the Thief could have squeezed in at the window of the turret room where the Queen of Attolia was kept prisoner, but no longer. It was one of the perils of adulthood. He'd mentioned to her once, that he had been dimly aware of the problem that last time he had fled from her guards through the spaces of her megaron, but now it was real and present. His full-grown body would not fit through the window. He hung onto the sill, suspended out over the raging seas below, and endured the wind and rain.

Attolia smiled.

"Here again?" she asked.

"Where else would I be?"

Attolia walked up to the window. It was raining outside and she tried not to dwell on thoughts of the slippery wet rock of the cliffs, nor the biting wind that blew the rain in horizontal lines past the window.

"Safe and warm in your bed," she said, reaching out to touch his face, "or out there, free among the mountains."

The mountains were obscured in fog, but she was always aware of them, hemming her in on this outcrop of rock overhanging the ocean. The Thief looked over his shoulder and she wondered, briefly, if he could see them even though she could not.

The he turned back to her with a wry smile. "I already gave up the mountains for you."

"And so much else." She leaned forwards, her head touching his.

His hook shifted slightly, embedding itself in the edge of the window, and his good hand lifted so his fingers entwined themselves in her hair.

"Still," she said a little ruefully. "I think you have been enjoying yourself, sneaking around and being underestimated once more."

"While you have had to suffer being trapped again," he said. "I didn't think it would get as dangerous as this, that the Mede would make a play for you."

"Helen once told me that you tended to not fully think through the outcomes of your plans."

"If Queen Anne sells you to the Mede..."

"You won't let that happen."

"But if she does," the Thief persisted.

The Queen of Attolia straightened up slightly and looked the Thief firmly in the eye. "Then the King of Attolia will govern without me. He will be strong and just and will do anything too foolish to get me back. Eventually he will take another wife and produce an heir."

"No," he said vehemently.

"Yes." She looked him in the eye, willing him to accept the idea. "Do you think I would have even considered this charade if I had thought it would leave Attolia without good governance?"

His eyes were wide with fear and for once, Attolia realised, it was fear for her, rather than fear of her. "You will be free again," he said.

She stood tall, freeing her head from his hand. She thought he understood her charge, even if he was refusing to acknowledge it. "Of course I will be free again, by one means or another."

The Thief nodded. "I will get you out of here."

"And then you will let yourself be trapped in the gilded cage once more."

"I made that choice long ago. I would have it no other way."

* * *

Cecily was wary the next time Callum appeared at the Queen of Attolia's window. He winked and asked if the Princess was learning well. Cecily looked him coldly in the eye. The plan Jestyn had related to her was a good one, but she disliked the way her hand was being forced in matters.

"I'm learning many things," she said firmly, and hoped he understood that she disapproved of him and disliked the position he placed her in.

Callum looked over at Attolia, approval in his expression. "She's a good student," he said.

"Don't preen. It doesn't suit you," the Queen retorted.

Cecily glanced between them, uncomfortable with their casual banter. Jestyn claimed Callum was one of the Queen's guards, but he behaved nothing like any guard Cecily had ever encountered. 

"Jestyn says you wish to go down into the caves on the Blessed Isle," Cecily said.

Callum nodded. "I do, but I'm worried by these old gods of yours. I don't suppose you could put in a good word for me."

The Queen of Attolia smiled slightly. "Callum is afraid of the old gods of Tirnamag."

"I'm not afraid," Callum said with dignity. "I just want to be certain where I stand."

Attolia's head bent over her embroidery once more, but Cecily could tell she was concealing another smile.

"What do you want to know of them?" Cecily asked. It wasn't as if there was anything particularly secret about the old tales.

Attolia glanced up, sharing an unknowable look with the man at the window.

"Do you know the story of Callum ap Meryl?" the Queen asked.

Cecily nodded. Her mother had kept her well versed in the tales of the old gods.

  
The Story of Callum ap Meryl   


One day when the Sea had taken human form and was walking along a beach she chanced across a sailor who was weeping on the shore.

"Why do you weep?" asked the Sea. For even though people are the children of the Sky, they were made of the Sea, and she had concern for them.

"My wife and I have no children," cried the sailor, "and she weeps long in our cottage and I weep for her."

"Come here again tomorrow and I will bring you a child," said the Sea. And so he did. They named the child Callum and he was known as Callum ap Meryl because he was born on the beach and was the child of the Sea, which is called Meryl in the old tongue.

The Sea would often visit the child, and she brought him gifts. Some were simple gifts, like a top that spun in different colours, or a blanket to keep him warm in winter. When he was five, she gave him the ability to scale the rocky cliffs that edged the Sea, so that he might climb down to visit her wherever he was. When he was ten, she gave him the cunning to conceal his godly nature from other men, lest he scare them. 

In time the Sky grew curious about why the Sea spent so much time visiting the sailor and his wife.

"I am visiting my son," the Sea said.

The Sky grew angry. "You shall have no children but mine," he cried. 

Then the Sea grew angry in turn. "But you have many children with all the lakes! Why can I not have children of my own?"

The Sky looked down on the village of the sailor and saw that the villagers worshipped the Sea from whom they had been made, and he blew up a storm that ripped up the houses of the village. The Sea in her turn looked on the villages of the people who worshipped the Sky for creating them, and she rose up in a great wave and engulfed the land and all was chaos. The people hid in the woods and caves where they could, and the sailor and his family took to the Sea in a boat, where the Sea kept them safe.

Eventually Magda, who was among the eldest children of the Sea and the Sky, called them together and made them look upon the people cowering in their forests and their caves.

"There is no honour in this fight," she said. "You are killing and destroying to no purpose, since the Sea and the Sky each has their own domain and neither can take one from the other. All you do is cause suffering among the people."

They were both ashamed. The Sky agreed to give his mighty winds to Magda, and the Sea agreed to yield her great waves; and Callum and his family, after spending forty days on the sea, came back to their village in peace.

* * *

Attolia bent her head over her embroidery. "They tell a similar tale in Eddis," she said.

"They tell it better in Eddis," said Callum, a note of irritation in his voice.

The Queen of Attolia smiled again.

* * *

It took me ten precious days to find a route out of the palace, get down to the town, and make contact with the ship. As I had suspected, all the possible routes involved crabbing along the cliffs. The Avalish didn't consider them climbable and so did not guard them well. Most of them were beyond my ability with a hook in place of my right hand, but eventually I found one that was passable.

The palace two walls to protect it on the landwad side. An inner wall close to the principal buildings, and beyond that lay a towering outer wall. Between the two walls was some scrubby grassland and a few huts used for storage. The gates in each wall were guarded, but it was the outer gate that had a full complement of guards, a double portcullis and a barracks close by. In between the inner and the outer wall lay the rock bridge and the crossing to the peninsula. Most Avalish called it the Circle, but I had noticed that Jestyn and Princess Cecily both referred to it as the Blessed Isle. 

That evening I scaled the inner wall close to the cliffs and some way from the gate. It was not especially high, and I had spent some of my time over the previous days making small handholds and footholds to assist me. 

In the town my Attolian contact had passed me a climbing attachment for my arm. It was not so different from the hook, except for extra straps so that it could hold my weight without tearing free. Now I was ready to attempt the rock bridge to Blessed Isle. A small guard post spanned the bridge at its narrowest point. The only way through the guard post would be to fool or kill the guards, an option that would probably only work once, if at all. Thus my only reconnaissance route through to the Circle was to pass below the guardhouse on the rock itself. Once on the Isle itself, I intended to check the caves within the Isle and hoped to find a route down to its beaches.

The Avalish had obviously never considered the idea that someone might attempt to use the buttress supports on the rock bridge in order to cross to the Isle. In many places, therefore, the going was easy across wooden beams. Elsewhere, ledges and holes that had been placed to support long ago scaffolding efforts provided convenient foot and hand holds. But occasionally I had to resort to rock climbing, balanced on my toes above the crashing waves below. It would have been easier and quicker when I was younger, lighter and possessed of both hands.

When I reached the far side, I clambered up onto the grassy surface of the Isle and then crawled my way slowly towards the stones. The long Avalish dusk was deepening into night, and before long I would have no light to see by. Once I was inside the barrow at the centre, I would light the lamp I had brought with me. I had just reached the stone circle when I heard voices. I scurried forwards to the nearest stone and crouched down at its base.

"Do you trust these reports of rebellion, Dee?" It was the Queen's voice.

She came from the entrance to the barrow, followed by her spymaster. She was wearing breeches and high boots, and I recalled that she had taken The _Golden Selkie_ out earlier, no doubt still chasing our caravel. I had been assured it was well hidden along the coast of the Dark Valleys among communities with little love for Queen Anne's rule. It appeared that she had yet to find it.

"I do, Your Majesty. There are too many of them and their information is too consistent for it to be a ruse."

"I still fail to see how Cecily can be much involved, even if they are rising up in her name. We've kept her here for a reason. She's had limited contact wiath anyone important who has sympathies with her cause."

"Indeed, Your Majesty. However, rebellion brews in her name. We've not been able to completely eliminate sympathisers from among her ladies-in-waiting and the other palace staff. It would be best to get rid of her before she makes her way to the army."

"Then there would be no heir."

"You have plenty of cousins, Your Majesty."

"I said no. Unless you can bring me firm proof that Cecily is directly involved, I will not have her executed."

Thoughtfully, I watched them pass. I was even more thoughtful when by the lights that shone from the guardhouse, I observed Dee taking one of the guards aside to speak to him. Exploration of the barrow might have to wait for another night.

* * *

The rock bridge between the Blessed Isle and Caer Avalish narrowed to a path barely wide enough for two people side-by-side. At this point the tiny guardhouse stood with stone railings at either side and a small room, overhanging the sea below, in which the guards kept a fire. Lamps hung from both sides of the guardhouse casting a pale light onto the paths. Beyond these pools of light all was in darkness. 

Normally this did not trouble Cecily. The path between castle and barrow had been walked by women of the royal houses of Tirnamag from before the land was split into three nations. That evening, however, something disturbed her. A crow flew above her head as she returned from the barrow, shrieking a warning. She frowned; at this hour, the crows sholud have been fast asleep. She passed through the guardhouse with a polite nod to the two guards, then picked up her pace as she moved into the dark spaces beyond.

She wasn't entirely surprised when a figure appeared out of the shadows.

"Come with me, Princess." The voice was deep and gruff with an accent from the Valleys, but she was certain it was no one she knew. She stepped backwards to find a second person behind. Two strong hands grasped her shoulders. She twisted in the man's grip and recognised the livery of the royal guard. He must have followed her from the guardhouse.

"Best do as he says," the second man said. "We are from the Duke of Avaldale."

"There are horses waiting at the far side of the bridge. You must hurry," said the first.

Cecily pulled forward, attempting to free herself. But the guard only gripped her tighter and clamped a hand firmly over her mouth. She began to struggle in earnest, but the stiff skirts and petticoats of her court attire hampered her movements. The two men began to haul her off the bridge, into the dark spots between the walls of the palace.

It was then that the guard slumped onto her. She staggered under his weight and his hand fell away from her mouth.

Immediately she heard Callum's distinctive voice saying, "Hush."

"What?" asked the first man. Something flew past Cecily's face and the man's question died in a gurgle. He staggered sideways, and then toppled off the bridge.

"I'm going to need your help to toss this one over the side," Callum said quietly.

"What is going on?"

"Dee is playing his hand and we're not yet ready for it. With luck he'll think these two have taken his money and run without taking the risk of kidnapping you."

"Why would they kidnap me?"

"Because he wants you in the Valleys, raising that rebellion of his."

Cecily grabbed the feet of the dead guard and helped Callum roll him over the edge of the bridge.

"I hate killing people," said Callum. "But somehow it keeps proving necessary."

"What now?"

"Pretend nothing happened. If asked, you left the guards on the bridge and walked back to the palace. You saw nothing else. If we're lucky this will delay Dee's plans by a day or two."

"And then what?"

"By then I'll have a route out of the palace prepared, and we'll get away from here."

"But Dee will still foment rebellion in the Valleys and bring in the Mede."

"Possibly. Will they rise if you aren't there?"

"I'm not sure. The Valleys expect to be led by Magda's own anointed monarch."

"Which you are not."

"Which I am not yet," Cecily said.

Jestyn knew of a druid nearby, one of the priests of the old gods who could perform the coronation ceremony. The plan, such as it was, would have Cecily go to him as soon as she was away from the palace and the watchful eyes of Aleister Dee. From there she would make her own way to the Dark Valleys. She was under no illusion, however, that things would be easy once she was there. It wasn't clear how she could turn a fake rebellion into a real one.

She was still thinking about how to do that when she entered Attolia's room the next day.

"Have you heard the expression `the Queen of Tirnamag commands both sea and storm,'?" she asked. 

Attolia nodded. "What of it?"

"There is an old story that goes with that saying."

Attolia inclined her head, a small gesture Cecily had learned meant she was interested.

  
The Circlet of the Sea   


_Tirnamag_ means _Land of Magda_ in the old tongue, and she is among the first of the children of Sea and Sky. These days, Tirnamag is divided into the three nations of Avalion, The Dark Valleys, and Dunethir, but in the old days it was all one land. After the Sea and the Sky reconciled, Callum and his family settled on Tirnamag because Magda was the one who had interceded between the two.

The Sea fulfuilled her promise and gave Magda her mighty waves. But though the Sky had promised to give her his winds, he withheld them. Magda feared he would quarrel again with the Sea and her people would suffer.

So she went to Callum ap Meryl and asked him to find the mighty storms of the Sky and bring them to her. Callum ap Meryl knew that the Sky was wont to lie with the lakes up in the mountains of what is now Dunethir, so he journeyed far to the north. He disguised himself as a highlander by dyeing his hair red, and he learned the language of the clans. 

Everywhere he went he asked men, "Have you seen the Sky and the lakes? For I would look upon them."

By this means he eventually came to a high lake, where he spied the Sky asleep on the shore with the lake's arms around him. But the lake was surrounded by steep cliffs and a noisy waterfall, and Callum would be forced to climb down them in order to steal the Sky's storms. He sat and thought about this, and after a while he set traps and captured several animals, including a mink and a goat.

He put them into his pack, and began to descend. Though he was careful, soon he dislodged a stone, and the lake woke.

"What sound is that?"

Callum released the mink he had in his pack and it sprang, complaining, down the slopes.

"Only a mink," replied the Sky. "Go back to sleep."

Callum continued descending until he dislodged a second stone and the lake woke up a second time.

"What sound is that?"

Then Callum released the goat he had in his pack and it sprang, complaining, down the slopes.

"Only a goat," replied the Sky. "Go back to sleep."

Callum continued descending until he reached the bottom of the cliff. Then he grabbed the Sky's storms from where he had left them, and then he tiptoed away, taking the storms with him. He climed up the cliffs and then ran across the heather and the moorland until he was far away.

Then he gave them to Magda, who fashioned the winds of the Sky and the waves of the Sea into a circlet which would allow the wearer to control the storms.

"Is that for me?" Callum asked.

Magda looked at him and saw the desire in his eyes, but she distrusted him. His ability to lie and to steal and to trick was unsurpassed. He had ambitions of his own, and he felt no particular loyalty to her land and her people, since his mother was the Sea, and the Sea bordered all the lands. 

So instead Magda decreed that the Circlet could only be worn by a Queen. She gave it to Callum's sister, who became the first Queen of Tirnamag; and ever since, the queens of this land have worn the Circlet and controlled the storms.

* * *

"It is a pretty tale," Attolia said, "though I'm sure Callum would declare that they tell something similar in Eddis, and tell it better."

"He often speaks that way about Eddis," Cecily said.

The Queen nodded. "So he does. I hope one day to hear him say something similar about Attolia."

* * *

The sides of the Blessed Isle were sheer and too high to use a rope to lower Attolia and Cecily down to the beaches below. I hadn't really expected anything else. I had seen caves lower down as we approached Caer Avalion, so my hope now lay in the thought that the barrow led deep into the Island and down to the caves. 

The barrow was entered by a long, low passageway that widened out into a chamber. I lit my lamp as I entered. Plain altars lay around the room, shrines to the old gods that I suspected had been long since abandoned. Crude stone figures were carved above each one. 

Only one showed any sign of recent attention. A female figure presided over it, great birds perched upon her shoulders. A single unsheathed sword lay across the altar, its blade clean and shining. At the far end of the chamber was a door. There was a heavy lock set into it, and I struggled to open it one handed with my lock picks, even though I was now well practised at the task.

When the tumblers finally fell into place I pushed the door back. It swung silently on well-oiled hinges. I propped it open with a stone and then cautiously descended the stair that lay beyond. As I had expected, the tunnel plunged steeply down into the rocks. I followed it all the way down to the bottom, which was a deep sinkhole with the booming of waves somewhere below. Then I worked my way slowly back upwards, checking the side passages and caverns, some natural and some created by man. Eventually I found a cave that was open to the elements. It was still high up the cliff face, but low enough down that I hoped it would serve my purposes. I was close to the top of the stair when my explorations found another wooden door, and another lock. The tumblers in this lock were lighter and more delicate than the first, and the mechanism was more complex. It took me several minutes to open. I froze when I saw the room beyond.

I had not been here before, but I had been somewhere similar. The statues that pressed around the walls of this room did not wear the old-style peploi I had seen on Hephestia, Moira and the others, but they had the same ancient calm and stillness, and I felt the same oppressive weight of attention. 

In the centre of the room, on a small stand, stood the Circlet of the Sea. It glinted in the light of my lamp. I took a step into the room, then stopped and looked thoughtfully at the assembled deities.

Magda stepped forward, instantly recognisable. She wore a tunic of red and black, a sword girded at her waist. Black curls tumbled loosely about her shoulders and a stripe of blue was painted across her eyes. A crow perched on her shoulder staring balefully at me.

"What are you planning to take from me, little thief?" she asked.

"Who says I'm planning to take anything?" 

"It is in your nature, little thief. You always take something."

I glanced at the Circlet.

"The Circlet is the least of things you reach for, and the only one I know you can not touch, for you are not an anointed Queen."

I glanced around the room, seeking the Sea goddess, mother of thieves in the tales of Tirnamag. But I could not see her any more than I had seen the Earth when I took Hamiathes' gift. 

"I am Magda. The protection of this land is mine, from the gentle hills of the wolds to the bare rocks of the smallest island in the North. I will not have it used as a plaything in your politics. Be warned."

I took a step backwards out of the chamber and the door swung shut before me, extinguishing the lamp with the force of the air it displaced. I didn't need the light, but I could still feel the attention of the gods upon me. I ran up the stairs towards the entrance to the barrow, feeling a pursuit on my heels, a faint sound of hunting horns, horses galloping and dogs baying. I broke out onto the open air to find a bright silver moon hung above me, and all was transformed. The stones loomed, glistening white in their circle, hemming me in, and the causeway lengthened into a pale silver thread, with no guardhouse to be seen.

I heard the hunt behind me and ran, casting around for a way off the path laid out so bright in the moonlight. The cliffs were sheer and dark on either side, but as the barking dogs drew closer, I decided to take my chance and slithered off the edge of the path and onto the rocks, clinging on with my hand and toes. A great host passed by above me. I closed my eyes and did not look but I heard enough; dogs and horns and the pounding of hooves. When I opened them again I was once more on the rock bridge as it exists in our world. I began to make my way slowly back towards the palace.

I was halfway across when a bird flew at me suddenly, causing me to jerk backwards. My thief's training came to the fore. Even as I fell back, I shoved my hand into a crack in the rock wall that I had been using as a hold and balled it into a fist. I felt the skin on my knuckles scrape as my feet gave way. My hand slipped in the crack, but then it stuck, pulling my shoulder. My side banged painfully against the cliff. Still I held. I took a deep shuddering breath and wondered if Callum ap Meryl would be able to catch me as Eugenides would have, or whether I was too far from home for the protection of any God of Thieves. The dark bird came in for a second pass shrieking angrily at me. I tucked my face into the arm I was hanging by. I felt talons gripping at my neck and my hair. I tried to ignore them, concentrating on finding a new purchase with my feet. Then with a final cry of warning it was gone, leaving me clutching hold of the cliff face and breathing deeply.

I made my way slowly and painfully back to the castle ward and even more slowly up and over the inner wall. I think I must have startled Jestyn when I saw him, but I waved him away and began to strip off my ruined clothes. He returned, however, and insisted on bathing my cuts and bruises. The muscles down my arm were stiffening by the time I tumbled into bed.

And then, of course, I dreamed. I suppose I should have guessed that being hunted by dogs would cause that to happen. And here you are. Did Jestyn go and rouse Cecily, and send her to get you?

  


_A great host passed by above me. I closed my eyes and did not look but I heard enough; dogs and horns and the pounding of hooves._

* * *

"Something like that," Cecily said. "He woke one of my own ladies first. Fortunately Caroline's mother was from the Valleys, and she will be discreet."

Carefully, Attolia brushed back the hair on the Thief's forehead. "You are lucky it wasn't one of your real screaming fits, else you would have woken the whole palace."

He dropped his head back against the pillow. "I've had worse nightmares."

She pursed her lips and nodded.

"How did you get past your guard?" he asked the Queen, fretfully picking at the cover of the bed.

"He was easy enough to bribe. He may go to Dee, but I'm not sure that makes a lot of difference at this point." Cecily said.

"Was it Angus?" the Callum asked.

"Yes."

He nodded. "Not one of Dee's men. I think you will be safe."

Callum paused, gazing around the room.

"The crow is the symbol of your goddess, isn't it?" he asked Cecily.

"Yes," she said.

"I don't think she likes me much."

"You should get back to your chamber." Gently, the Queen of Attolia moved Cecily away.

"But..."

"You can not be caught roaming around the palace on your own at night, and I doubt your Caroline will dare wait for long before coming to seek you out."

"But what of you?"

"I believe the bribe will keep the eyes of my chamber's the guard elsewhere until morning. You must go now. Jestyn can take you."

Cecily looked at the Queen, who sat herself calmly on the bed of the battered man. 

"You are very kind. I don't think many see that," Cecily said.

To her surprise Callum threw his head back and laughed quietly. Even Attolia smiled.

"You are mistaken. As this thief once pointed out, I am beautiful but I am not kind. But you should still go. We can not afford more suspicions to be raised."

The Queen and the Thief watched as Cecily left the room. Attolia lifted his hand and turned it over, examining Jestyn's dressings.

"I was worried about their gods," the Thief said.

"You have annoyed the gods before and lived to tell the tale," she replied.

The Thief closed his eyes, curling his hand to grip hers. "For a moment there, I thought I was going to fall."

Her breath caught ever so slightly in her throat. "But you didn't fall," she said.

"Eventually all thieves fall."

Her head bowed over his one good hand, swathed in bandages.

After a moment of silence, he took a deep shuddering breath. "Stay," he whispered, "at least a little while."


	4. Chapter 4

The following afternoon the court descended into minor uproar. The earrings that Queen Anne had taken from the Queen of Attolia had gone missing. Queen Anne had worn them on several occasions since they had been acquired, most notably whenever she was having an audience with Attolia herself.

"There must be a thief in the court," Callum said from where he lounged against a pillar, while the queen paced up and down and raged at her courtiers. He was affecting a jewelled glove on his left hand that nicely concealed his bandages beneath velvet and embroidery. He was also walking with a slight limp, but had disguised it by slouching and misdirection.

"This _is_ a pirate court, in case you hadn't realised," Queen Anne spat back.

Dee entered the room amid all the uproar. He was full of pomp and self-importance and announced the imminent arrival of an ambassador from the Mede. The Queen's expression darkened; it was clear to everyone that this was as much news to her as to them.

As people hurried to prepare an appropriate reception, the Thief vanished into the corridors of the palace, dragging Jestyn with him.

"You need to get down to the town, for we leave tonight. I will tell you who to contact." The Thief spoke hurriedly as they headed back towards his rooms.

"Why tonight? I thought you needed more time."

"Because although your Queen and her court do not know enough about the country of Attolia to put two and two together and work out who I am, the Mede ambassador will. If that happens the game is up."

"Why? Who are you?"

"Doesn't matter. But you need to get down to the town and the Princess and Attolia need to be ready to move at the turn of the tide."

* * *

Cecily was summoned to the Great Hall in order to greet the Mede. She thought him a strange-looking personage with his elaborate baggy clothing and long oiled hair. He fluttered over the Queen in apparent admiration of her beauty. Queen Anne preened, but Cecily doubted she was taken in. When the Queen's eyes lighted upon Dee, they were angry. Meanwhile the Mede muttered flatteries, and dropped hints about vipers while shooting dark looks in Cecily's direction. Callum was nowhere to be seen, but Jestyn, bending over the table to serve her wine, murmured that they had to be ready to go at dusk.

As the light faded, Cecily feigned exhaustion and asked to be excused. The Queen looked even angrier. Just as Cecily knew Anne well enough to know that no ambassadorial flattery would sway her actions, Anne knew Cecily well enough to know that mere tiredness would never induce her to admit weakness before the court. However the Ambassador and Dee both rushed to offer sympathies and see her ushered from the room. As she left, Cecily wondered if their desire to paint her as the villain in a conspiracy could have been more obvious. 

Her two ladies followed her through the corridors. Cecily retired to her rooms and dismissed Katherine, whom she suspected of working for Dee, and shut herself in with Caroline.

"I need my sailing clothes," Cecily instructed and was relieved when Caroline made no comment but fetched her stout breeches and leather coat from the wardrobe. Cecily opened her jewellery box and removed the upper compartment. Underneath was the battle paint of her people. Once she was dressed she painted a single blue stripe across her eyes. 

"Caroline, you will find a sword and knife under the bed. I will need those as well."

Callum had given the weapons to her only the previous day. Cecily had no idea where he had got them from. Caroline strapped them on her and then stood back to admire her work. "There, now, you look like a proper Queen of the Valleys for a change."

Cecily stared at the painted face in the mirror. 

"Bring my cloak. I must be concealed a while longer. I need to collect the Queen of Attolia."

Cecily found she could easily move easilythe palace. Most of the nobility were in the Great Hall feasting with the Mede Ambassador. She pulled the hood of her cloak forwards to conceal her face and let Caroline lead. As lady-in-waiting to the Princess none of the palace staff chose to question Caroline's movements. She found the Queen of Attolia in her chambers, already dressed in breeches and jerkin with a long concealing cloak also slung over them. She was armed, as was Cecily, with a sword the Thief had smuggled to her. She nodded when Cecily arrived and looked pointedly at Caroline.

"You should go," Cecily told her lady-in-waiting. "Tell them I asked to speak with the Queen of Attolia for an hour and that you left me here."

Caroline curtsied low. "My Queen," she said and then she was gone.

"Good, we are almost ready." Attolia lifted a lantern up onto the sill of her window.

"What's that for?" Cecily asked.

"A precaution, in case other plans go awry." The Queen turned to face the door of the room. "Time to deal with the guard, I think."

Attolia drew both sword and knife and left the room. She bore down on the guard like a force of nature and had slit his throat before he was even aware he was under attack. He fell to the floor and Attolia switched her cloak out of the way and stepped carefully over the growing pool of blood. Cecily followed, but she paused by the body, murmuring a quiet blessing to the departed. His death had been inevitable but that did not mean it could not be honoured.

The two women left the castle by a route the Thief had planned that kept them well away from the more frequented areas. They kept their cloaks tight about them, with the hoods up to conceal their faces. It was a relief when they left the main buildings and entered the small yard before the inner wall. There was a rope hanging down from the wall, close to the cliff edge, just as Callum had said there would be. Attolia scaled the wall swiftly and expertly. Cecily copied her movements, leaning out against the rope and walking up the wall with her feet. Attolia caught her hand at the top and pulled her up onto the narrow walkway. Callum was waiting for them, braced against the stonework with the rope wound around his waist. He dropped it over the far side and the two women scrambled down it again. Then he coiled it over his shoulder and climbed down the wall using just his hand, hook and feet.

Crows flew above their heads as they walked to the rock bridge.

"Your goddess is being a bit conspicuous," the Thief remarked.

Cecily looked up at the crows. "She has never much approved of subterfuge, and you are attempting to steal me away. That is what she was warning you against, wasn't it."

"As far as I'm aware you are coming willingly," he said, a little stiffly.

Cecily didn't reply. Her options had narrowed down to the point where she had to betray Queen Anne, who for all her spite, had seemed sincere in making Cecily her heir. Cecily recognised that much of the fault lay with Dee, but Attolians had played a role as well.

"There are two guards. We have to make this quick," Callum said.

Cecily hefted her sword and paused to ponder the fight. Like the guard outside Attolia's room, these men were simply in their way, with little personal malice towards them. But that was the way of battle. The important thing was to meet your opponents with honour.

Callum and Attolia had already marched ahead. Cecily saw little chance to overtake them on the rock bridge, and resisted the urge to try. The guard on duty raised his the lantern to see who it was that was coming and collapsed almost instantly, a dagger in his throat.

"Show off," Attolia murmured.

The second guard came out of the guardhouse to see what was happening, but by that point the two Attolians were upon him. He raised his sword. With practised coordination Attolia blocked it; Callum ducked under her arm and knifed the man through the leather jerkin he wore. Cecily was quietly impressed. Attolia's moves were more determined than polished, but it was clear that she had some basic sword training. Callum was fluid and fast and had clearly understood and anticipated Attolia's move. Cecily suspected that the manoeuvre had been practised.

They stepped over the bodies. Cecily saw Attolia lay a hand gently on Callum's arm, as if in sympathy. He glanced up at her and his good hand came across to squeeze hers. Attolia's face looked cold and implacable, but Cecily thought there was nevertheless a rueful understanding between them. Their mutual capacity for violence was not a source of pride.

The three of them crossed the remainder of the bridge in silence and entered the barrow. 

"Which is the shrine to Callum ap Meryl?" Callum asked.

Cecily silently pointed to one of the abandoned altars. Callum walked over and carefully placed the missing earrings onto the stone.

"Stealking those was foolish and dangerous," Attolia said.

"I try not to offend the gods if I can, and I think we are going to need the intercession of the God of Thieves."

Cecily looked between the Queen of Attolia and Callum, trying to understand who they were and why they were here. Trying to make sense of their closeness. Then she recalled, suddenly, that the King of Attolia had previously been known as the Thief of Eddis.

"Attolis!" she breathed.

"The same." He smiled and gave a mock brow.

"You have left your country ungoverned?" Cecily's voice raised in surprise.

"The King of Sounis and the Queen of Eddis are more than capable of looking after Attolia for a month or two," the King of Attolia said, "and we had important matters to attend to."

"What?" she asked. "What could possibly be important enough that you would both deliberately risk yourselves in this fashion?"

Attolia spoke up. "Tirnamag has been raiding our shipping incessantly for two years. Our galleys have been unable to capture one of your ships, despite their superior manoeuvrability in our waters. We came to put a stop to it."

They had come, Cecily realised, to steal the Circlet of the Sea; a Queen and her Thief. She was surprised; so few people in Tirnamag actually believed in the power of the Circlet, and yet these Attolians from far away had come to steal its power. They were stealing the Princess as well, as that would destabilise the country, but she was not the original object. As she watched them move towards the door that led deeper into the barrows, her own plans began to fall into place. Magda was not subtle, but she approved of those who made the most of what luck put in their hands.

Cecily tucked her knife back in its sheath at her hip, taking instead her mother's sword from the altar of. This she lifted in her right hand, while she held the sword Callum had giver ner in her left.

The King unlocked the door that led down below the barrow, to the stair, and the gods, and the cave and finally the Narrow Sea. He counted the openings and doors as they descended until they came to the chamber of the Circlet. It reflected the light of the lamp, casting golden rays around the walls. The gods were absent, but Cecily could sense their presence. The King stopped at the door once it was open, but gestured for the others to enter.

"Only a Queen may hold the Circlet, that is the legend, is it not?" Attolia asked.

Cecily nodded mutely, watching the light shining on the Queen's face. Attolia took a deep breath and stepped across the threshold. When nothing happened, she moved forward, laying her fingertips gently on the golden band. She paused. Still nothing happened. Carefully the Queen of Attolia raised the Circlet of the Sea and placed it upon her head. For a moment she was bathed in a golden glow that seemed almost to emanate from within; then it dimmed slightly and she was Attolia once more.

"Well?" The King asked. "How does it feel to command the oceans?"

"We will see," she replied. She stepped back to the door and placed a gentle hand upon his face. "Thank you."

"We've not escaped yet," he said.

As if on cue, the sound of voices floated down the stairs from above. 

"They've discovered our flight," Attolia said.

"Put out the lamp, hold hands and follow my lead," said the King.

In the darkness they descended through the caverns of the Isle. Somewhere, far above, an alarm bell began to toll. As they moved they could hear the sounds of feet and shouting on the stairs. The pursuit was gaining. The King had hoped that silence and the maze of tunnels would slow any pursuers down as they searched, but someone in their number must have known the passages and guessed where the fugitives would be heading.

When they reached the exit, the King hastily uncoiled the rope and let it out through the opening.

"There is nowhere to go!" said Cecily. "That beach will be underwater once the tide comes in."

He pointed out to the sea. In the gloom, the outline of the Attolian caravel was just visible. Either the lamp in Attolia's window had alerted them, or Jestyn had reached the captain via the Thief's contacts in the town.

"Queen Anne's fleet will set sail as soon as that ship is seen. You can't hope to outrun them," Cecily said.

Attolia touched the Circlet on her head. 

Cecily tutted in annoyance. "The Circlet will not help you that much. The wind will likely be in your favour, but you have only a single ship. Queen Anne's galleons are faster than your caravel, and they have forward mounted guns. The can fire on you as they give chase while you can only fire broadside. You can not hope to out run them, even with a favourable wind. You can not risk them seeing that ship."

The three fugitives listened to the sounds of the pursuit coming down the stairs. From the rocky shore below came the sound of a rowing boat beaching on the pebbles. The tide was on the turn. If they did not take the small boat soon it would take them an age to reach the ship anchored out beyond the harbour.

"Go!" Cecily said. "I'll meet you at the peninsula called Brennan's point in the Dark Valleys."

"No! You can not take on a squad of guards!" the King of Attolia protested.

"Trust in the gods!" Cecily said calmly.

The Queen of Attolia made a slight choking sound. It sounded as if she was trying not to laugh.

"Trusting the gods is how I've ended up in most of these messes," the King muttered.

But for once, it seemed he could not argue. The royal princess before him was not about to be stolen.

Attolis complained about the situation as he anchored the rope, allowing Attolia to descend to the shore. Cecily could still hear him complaining as he free-climbed down after her. She heard the laughter of sailors and fancied there were more complaints fading into the dark as the little rowing boat headed out towards the caravel.

There was cursing on the stairs above. She relighted the lamp and placed it carefully on the floor at the far side of the cave, where it would shine from behind her. It gave her the advantage of sight. The pursuit would perceive her only as a shadow against the brightness and it would be hard for anyone in the cave to see out into the bay to the ship that lurked in the Narrow Sea. She raised her mother's sword in the en garde position and held the other in her off-hand. She felt the familiarity of the lessons both her father and mother had drilled into her. The crow landed on her shoulder.

When the pursuit tumbled into the cave they actually stopped short. One shouted the name of Magda in fear. That gave Cecily time to close with the nearest, while the crow flew into the faces of the others. She allowed the battle passion to rise, allowed the goddess to guide her hand, merely concentrating enough to let the basic forms constrain the temptation to swing wildly. Three guards went down quickly. She parried blows and thrust home with each hand equally while the crow sounded its approval.

Someone shouted out in fear, "The goddess said not to descend!"

Suddenly the men were routed. Cecily heard them scrambling up the stairs.

She paused for breath, gazing at the swords she held. She was out of practice, but even so, the old lessons of her childhood had served her well. And her goddess had been with her. It had felt good.

Before leaving the cave she turned to each of the fallen men, doing them honour. The leader was Arthur Fotheringay, Earl of Atherex. Poor Arthur; he had never stood a chance with the Queen, and here he was, a pawn caught between Dee's machinations, the Queen's indifference, and her own desperate fight for survival. Cecily felt no real sorrow at his death, but she regretted its necessity, and that of the other men. When she became Queen she would need to choose her advisers with better care than had her half-sister.

She began to climb the stair at a slow place. Her heart was beating wildly in excitement, but at the same time she felt a strange sort of calm. Later, she would wonder at that calm, particularly since the King and Queen of Attolia had both killed with ease but no small amount of self-disgust. The Queen of Attolia hid her dislike better than the King did, but it seemed like a canker that ate away at both of them. Cecily climbed the stairs with purpose and clear conscience.

As she rose she felt the wild hunt gather. When she reached the entrance to the barrow, Magda stood waiting. The goddess was riding a jet black horse, but beside her was a white destrier, free of saddle or reins. Cecily knew it for her own, and mounted it. Then they rode, and the host followed them. They rode across the rock bridge and past the guards massing at its foot, who scattered as they approached. Those at the main gates of the castle had time to organise themselves into a rough formation, with pikemen at the front, but the hunt simply jumped the wall. Once they were out into the countryside they rode towards the mountains and, somewhere beyond them, the Dark Valleys, where the old gods were still revered.

  


_Queen Anne's galleons are faster than your caravel, and they have forward mounted guns._

Three days later Queen Cecily of Tirnamag waited on the beach at Brennan's point with a small honour guard. She watched as the King and Queen of Attolia were rowed across the water to meet her. When they disembarked they were flanked by guards and attendants, and both were dressed more richly than they had when she'd seen them last. Attolia was wearing the Circlet of the Sea on her brow. After all, this was now a meeting of monarchs.

Attolis looked Cecily up and down. She was dressed for battle, but her breast plate was chased with silver roses. Her standard, a black crow on a red ground, blew in the wind.

"Rebellion is a risky business," the King said.

"My hand was forced. I intend to claim what is mine. It will also prevent an alliance between Avalion and the Mede, which will be to your advantage."

Queen Cecily left it at that. She didn't blame Attolia and Attolis for manipulating her fears and Dee's plans to their advantage. It had been to her advantage as well.

"How do you propose to do this? Your forces are small, especially if you discount those offered by Avaldale."

Cecily had made her plans carefully. It was now important to her enterprise that the Attolians understood them fully. "I will attack by sea. The Dark Valleys had its own fleet only a few short years ago. Most of the boats were absorbed into the Queen's navy, but many have found their way to me here. The Mede have an armada ready to land troops to quell the rebellion. They are not a sea-faring nation and will be more dangerous on land than at sea. My first plan is to repel that armada. Queen Anne's navy will no doubt be forced into battle with us at that point. If I beat the navy, then Caer Avalion will be vulnerable to attack."

Attolis understood. "If you had the weather on your side, then victory at sea would be more than likely. You want the Circlet back."

"It does not belong to Attolia."

"I stole it, fair and square."

"Actually, _I_ stole it." Attolia interrupted and Attolis looked startled.

"I _am_ Annux," he said, and actually pouted. "What is the point of being Annux if people keep contradicting me?"

"The Circlet belongs in Tirnamag. I can feel it. We can not afford to anger the gods, and our purpose in coming here can be served if Cecily wears it." Attolia looked directly at Cecily. "I need your word that Tirnamag, or whatever part of it you control, will take no action against our three countries of Attolia, Eddis, and Sounis."

Queen Cecily took the sword of kingship and drew it slowly across her palm leaving a long cut behind. She raised her arm allowing the blood to soak into the ground.

"I swear by the Crow and the Sword and the Hunt that there will be no alliance between the Mede and the land of Tirnamag while I sit upon the throne."

Above her, a crow screamed as it circled in the sky.

Attolis pouted again. "I suppose it will do."

Attolia stepped forward, lifting the Circlet of the Sea from her head. She placed it carefully on Cecily's head.

"Go in peace, Queen of Tirnamag, and take your country."

**Author's Note:**

> The sharp of eye, or at least those who are British and of a certain age, will note that Queen Anne owes much to Miranda Richardson's performance as Elizabeth I in Blackadder II. In fact the whole Avalish court is very loosely modelled on the Tudor courts of Queen Mary and Queen Elizabeth and draws on the political tensions caused both by Elizabeth's existence during Mary's reign and the existence of Mary Queen of Scots during Elizabeth's reign.
> 
> The details of Elizabethan ships came from a hurried re-read of the relevant chapter of _The Safeguard of the Sea_ by N. A. M. Rodger, though I remain a little confused about how a sixteenth century sea battle actually worked so a lot was made up.


End file.
